


Híni Ilúvataro

by WonderWafles



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Edain, Gen, Haladin | House of Haleth, Maiar, Or the lead-up to it anyway, War of Wrath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-07-06 16:10:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15889482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WonderWafles/pseuds/WonderWafles
Summary: On the eve of the War of Wrath, Eönwë, herald of Manwë, is sent to the Hither Lands to deliver a message to the Noldor and Edain who yet remain. As he meets the remnants of a once-noble House of Men in the forests of Middle-Earth, far closer to Angband than their brethren, he must decide how much to tell them - and how he can help them.





	Híni Ilúvataro

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of an event called Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang! The awesome image below, "Herald of the Elder King", which was done by Lyra at nimium-amatrix-ingenii-sui.tumblr.com, was the basis for this story! Hopefully this story does it justice!
> 
> The image can also be found at www.deviantart.com/qitian.

It is said among the Wise that of the Ainur, to the Valar was allocated the greatest share of the sight of the Vision of Arda in the Timeless Halls ere the world was made in truth, and only to some of them was the greatest knowledge of the Children of Ilúvatar shared.

The Maiar saw what was set before them, and little was the insight given to them by Ilúvatar. The themes inscribed within them paid heed ever to the themes of the Valar, and seemed little things in comparison – but also do the Wise know that there were no small voices in the Ainulindalë, and always will the Music be fulfilled unto the least of its refrains.

Of the Valar, to Manwë Súlimo was accorded the most insight into the mind of Ilúvatar, and to his herald, Eönwë, he shared much, but not all. And of this Eönwë was content for long ages, for his theme was in the service of Manwë’s, and ever did he hearken to him.

And yet, as the Eldar grew great and fair in the Bliss of Valinor where mortal beings could not tread, the hour of Men drew nigh, and it was decided for them that they would remain in the Hither Lands, and come not to the land of Aman. Eönwë was discontented, for he wished to meet them and bring to them some part of the Valar and the glory of the West.

As the Hither Lands fell under exile, many of the Ainur grieved for the Secondborn, as it was doom that unto them a measure of great woe would come to them from the hand of Melkor. In those days, the Herald of Manwë brought before the King his concern – that without the hand of the Valar, the Atani would flicker and fade as candles in a great darkness and howling wind, and Melkor would be their lord upon Earth.

To this, Manwë merely smiled, and lifted his hand, and said that the strange chances of the world were many indeed.

“It may be that the hearts of Men are not so easily swayed,” Manwë said. “Is it not true that the theme of Melkor was never ascendant in the hearts of the Children, whether they be First or Second? It was never for Melkor’s lot that he should have whole dominion over the Children, nor for long. Go and be comforted, my Herald, for even as the Shadow falls, there will be light that endures.”

And Eönwë went back to the fields of Aman, and tried his best to feel comforted.

…

The shores of the River Sirion were quiet, and on the night of the hunt, the moon had vanished nearly to nothing in the sky. He would remember this night as one of the darkest he had experienced since before the labor of Varda in the creation of the Valacirca, and as he stole through the forest it seemed to him that the stars themselves were obscured.

The man, tall and noble of bearing, ducked through the trees with all the silence of darkness. He had reached the coast of Beleriand only a few hours before, avoiding going straight to the Isle of Balar lest the spies of Morgoth, who were surely watching it, see him before he had the chance to assume a more human form.

Still, as he made his way down the coast, he almost wished he had taken fewer precautions, as a good number of mosquitos seemed quite interested in his neck, and his feet hurt. He wondered vaguely how Melian could have stood corporeal form for as long as she did.

What’s more, over the gurgle of the Sirion and the low song of those birds that had not fled or sickened at the advance of Morgoth, he could tell that he was being followed.

His pursuers were quiet by the standards of the Children, but to his ear, used to the soft-as-feathers footfalls of the Hunters of Oromë on those occasions he had to ride with them, they were excruciating. The rattle of weaponry – spears, if he had to guess, and some swords that were yet sheathed – did not help their cause.

Orcs, he supposed. They must have caught his trail. To their sight, he would look like a Man unaccounted for by their master.

The weight of a scimitar at his hip reassured him. He did not reach for it, yet, but he knew that he would have need of it soon. He could not outrun them, for he might lead them to the Isle and the remaining Noldor. On the eve of the War he supposed it would not matter, and he doubted that Melkor did not at least guess where the last of the Elves had gone, but he would not be responsible for more of the Children’s misery.

He veered off to his right, closer to the river. As the sounds of the Sirion grew louder into a roar and the water slapped against the shores near the delta, the footsteps faded but did not disappear. They would be less cautious now.

His followers began to shift and the footsteps began to spread out, and the man realized they were doubling around him. Trying to entrap him.

He allowed his hand to drift towards his sword. A band of orcs would be short work, but he had to make sure none of them escaped to report to Melkor, lest in some corner of the fallen Vala’s mind he began to have an inkling of their plans.

The bushes rustled. They were right next to him. He watched out of the corner of his eye, prepared to react when they –

A figure burst out from the underbrush, leveling a spear at the man. Shocked, he almost forgot to draw his own sword in reply.

Dark skin, tall and well-built, her hair short and hanging around her face in tangles that suggested it had not been properly washed in some time. Her fingers curled around her spear, and she shouted at him in a familiar, but strange language – Sindarin, he recognized, in the accent that Melian had borne with her back to Aman.

This was no orc.

The woman shouted at him again, and this time he managed to listen.

“Who are you? Where did you come from? Are you in league with Morgoth?”

To accompany these questions, she jabbed her spear at him. The man took the opportunity to appraise her handling. It was easy and practiced, and he knew that this woman was not new to the weapon.

He raised his hands in a gesture which he hoped would mean surrender to the Men of Beleriand. “Peace,” he said, in Sindarin. “I am no friend of the Enemy’s, and I doubt he would be glad to know of me intruding on his lands.” He nodded towards her. “May I ask you the same?”

The woman snorted, and pushed hair out of her face with one hand. A faint scar on the right cheek revealed itself, and one finger from that hand was missing. “One out of three questions answered, and yet I am burdened with more,” she said.

The man noticed her hand had relaxed almost imperceptibly, however.

“Such is life in the Hither Lands,” he replied, allowing a smile to creep onto his face. “I am sorry, but I cannot give my name or my purpose until I know I can trust you.”

The woman didn’t like this. Her grip strengthened once again. “These are dark times,” she said. “I can’t-”

The bushes from which she had come began once again to rustle. She glanced sharply at them.

“Not to offend,” the man said, “but it looks as though you are the one who has me trapped, not the other way around.”

The woman stepped forward. The man knew in his feä that she was no threat to him, but he resisted the urge to step backward nonetheless.

“Your name,” she said, “and where you came from.”

Before the man could answer, the bushes parted, and a tall figure stepped through them. He moved with silence, so that even the man’s ears strained to perceive him were it not for the sight of his eyes, but as he laid his hand on the woman’s shoulder, she didn’t seem surprised.

“If we continue like this, Mirnah, we will never set foot in camp again,” he said, a dry sort of humor in his voice.

Mirnah huffed, but didn’t look any more certain than she did before. “He could be a threat, Dalin,” she said.

“Kill him or release him,” the other man said, “but we should move soon. The orcs will surely take notice, what with all this yelling.”

“We could,” said another voice, “take him with us.”

All at once, there were more Men surrounding the man, who took in each of them with a quick glance. A band of ragged men and women, most were wearing battered and broken armor – some of them weren’t wearing armor at all. All of them looked hungry, and desperate, their ribs jutting against their skin and a quick hardness in their eyes.

“Risky,” one of them said.

“Are we in the business of slaying strangers before they give us cause?” a very large man with an equally large (if ill-made) sword said in a rumbling voice.

“These are dark times,” one of the others argued, but her eyes were thoughtful.

For a moment, the man could feel the iron of the spear blade press against his neck. He stood as still as possible, and thought about how to escape and continue on his mission – the last thing he wished to do was raise his hand against the Children.

Still. These Men were clearly desperate. If they were so afraid of Melkor’s agents, it was likely they were being hunted. Perhaps there was a way he could help them, without compromising the reason he was sent here?

The Noldor would have barely enough time to ensure their people were safe from the coming storm as it was. He could not be waylaid for long.

He thought as the tense heartbeats passed. Mirnah looked at him pointedly, and he returned the glance.

Then, the pressure of the spear was withdrawn again, and Mirnah held it by her side, relaxed and pointed at the sky.

“We spare him,” she said, firmly. Her eyes bore holes in his head. “For now.”

“Good,” Dalin said. “Then let’s get moving. We need to make it back to camp before morning.” He smiled at her, gently, and Mirnah returned it weakly.

Mirnah turned away from her fellows, and made to move towards the brush again. The Men around him stirred to movement as well, and soon the clearing was emptied, the footsteps of those who had once occupied it as silent as the spring wind.

Only one man remained. Dalin looked at him with a wry sort of humor in his eyes, and shrugged as if to say what can you do? After this, he, too, went after his peers.

A new sharpness at his back alerted the man to a warrior standing behind him, holding his sword at the ready. The warrior nodded at him, and gestured him forward.

The man, without another word, did as was asked of him and followed the band of Secondborn as they slipped into the forest. The sound of the River Sirion faded away behind him.

…

The Men who had captured him had a base, he found out, further north than he would have guessed any Child would go in these times.

Dalin led them through the darkened trees. The man glanced to his side to see three of the warriors ghosting alongside of him, almost beyond his line of sight. More were to his right.

At one point, they stopped to heed the sound of grunting and demented laughter to their east.

Dalin and Mirnah exchanged a glance. The man knew what they were thinking. He had seldom heard the sound of orcs before, and it had been a long time ago, but he knew he would not forget it.

Almost without communication, the groups split. Mirnah led some of the Men (including the warrior who was holding his sword to the back of the man’s neck) while Dalin took others around the other side of the camp.

The man caught a glimpse of the orc camp as his companions shuffled through the brush. It was dark, lit by few fires and dim torches, but he could make out the wiry outlines of several of the brutes sitting around, roasting an animal of indeterminate species (perhaps he could ask Aiwendil), and cackled amongst themselves in their foul language. The man was unfamiliar with it, but he thought he got the gist.

The orc camp fell behind them, and the Men drew back together like cloth under a needle. The sword at the man’s back relaxed its presence just noticeably, and the man took the chance of looking around.

“Hey.” A voice behind him. “Don’t do that. We don’t need you knowing the way back.”

“We should have put a hood on him,” another voice, female, and looking older than the man thought any warrior of Men would have been, said almost sulkily.

Dalin shrugged, visible even in the low light. “If he is a servant of the Enemy, than we won’t let him leave,” he said.

“And,” a third voice whose owner he could not ascertain said, “we were in a hurry.”

A low murmur of laughter ran through the group.

“That too,” Dalin offered.

As they came up over a hill, the trees cleared. The man wondered briefly if they were in Brethil, but they had only been walking for an hour or so, and it was the wrong side of the river. The man knew that if he focused his hearing, he could pick up the roaring of the western Sea (though he doubted his new companions would hear it at all).

Beyond the clearing, the trees converged again. The group made their way across the clearing, and as they reached the middle, Dalin broke off from the others and made his way towards the opposite end. 

He vanished into the trees. The man strained to see where he had gone.

Mirnah looked at him askance. “When we get to the camp, keep your head down,” she said shortly. “Don’t look at anyone. It’ll make you look less like a prisoner.”

“Wouldn’t that make me look like more of a prisoner?” he asked her.

“Not the kind of prisoners we take.”

The man holding the sword snorted, perhaps in laughter. The man wondered if she was referring to orcs. He had never seen orcs in defeat – none had ever surrendered when he and his kindred had gone to war against them, and he wondered, briefly, if they would have accepted it.

Dalin emerged again from the trees, leading a group of other Men, who very tall and looked rather strong. They looked at him, almost in unison, for a second, and then turned to Mirnah.

“He was alone?” they asked her.

“Yes,” she said. “And no, I don’t know where he came from. He looks like Haradin, but there are few of those so far north.”

Some of the Men looked at him, and he thought that being as far north as he was wasn’t a point in his favor.

“What’s your name?” one of them asked him. An effort was made to sound kindly, which the man appreciated.

“My name is Eönwë,” he said politely. “I am come from the West.”

He was met with blank stares. Mirnah’s gaze, in particular, felt scorching.

There was a whine from somewhere beneath one of the Men’s knees. A wiry brown dog approached Eönwë, who stooped to rub its neck and behind its ears. It panted and licked his hand excitedly, and Eönwë couldn’t help but smile.

“That dog doesn’t like anyone,” a woman who had followed Dalin blurted out.

“Everyone likes someone,” Eönwë said. “Especially dogs, whether their master is deserving or no.” He remembered the goodly loyalty of Huan in Valinor as he spoke. The dog rolled over, exposing his belly, and Eönwë obliged his request.

The woman’s face colored, and Eönwë suspected that he had said something wrong.

“Never mind that,” Dalin said. “Eönwë, is it?”

Eönwë nodded.

“We need you to come with us. We need to make sure we can trust you.”

“Oh, of course,” Eönwë said. “I will tell you whatever you need to know. Then, however, I must be leaving. I have business south of here that I must attend to.”

Dalin raised an eyebrow. Some of the Secondborn around him looked angry.

Eönwë was no fool – he knew he was a captive. But he knew honesty and openness was best when dealing with the Children. He would no sooner lie to them than he would try to harm them.

“Well,” Mirnah said behind him. “Before you do that, let’s do our thing first.”

…

The camp was no more impressive than Eönwë would have expected, but to one who was used to dealing with Elven princes with towers and gardens so luxurious the Valar rejoiced to be in them, it was still something of a surprise.

A few huddled piles of sticks and leaves Eönwë supposed were tents and dwellings were the only things that indicated a people lived here, had cultivated the land and let their children run upon the ground.

And children there were – Eönwë counted three who looked at him, wide eyed, before an adult pulled them behind him and ushered them towards a new activity. He wondered if there were more who were unwilling to come and take a look at the new arrival.

The sword was no longer at his back, as most of the Secondborn escorting him trusted to the size of their party to keep him in check. He let them believe they were correct.

The early light of morning was beginning to break over Middle-Earth. Obscured by the clouds overhead, it filtered down in shades of gray. Men and women were beginning to emerge from their huts, making ready for the day.

A woman, cooking something on a pan, noticed them coming. She returned her attention to the meal, which while much simpler than the elaborate dishes the Vanyarin princes could make, still looked very good.

Eönwë frowned. He thought it did, at any rate.

“Dalin,” the woman said, without looking up. “Mirnah. It is good to see you have returned.”

The Men around Eönwë took the opportunity to disperse and greet friends and family. The woman who owned the dog embraced a man, only a little bit older than her, who was leaning heavily on a staff – her dog peeled himself away from Eönwë’s side and ran, barking happily, to join her.

He realized he was staring. He looked back at the woman with the pan, who was now looking at him with a lilted mouth that reminded him of Dalin. “Now,” she said. “What have you brought back?”

Eönwë looked at Mirnah. She cleared her throat. “A traveler,” she said lowly. “He was wandering the fens south of here.”

“Stranger,” the woman said, and Eönwë took a moment to realize that she was talking to him. “Speak. Why have you come?”

The woman was speaking the far language of the Haradrim. He wondered where she had picked it up. “I am merely passing through,” he responded in Sindarin. “My goal lies elsewhere, but I assure you, it is not in service of Morgoth.”

The woman looked at Dalin, who shrugged. Eönwë wondered for a moment (too late) if the woman spoke Sindarin.

Then, she turned back to him. “You speak the tongue of the Haradrim and the Elves,” she said, a note in her voice that may have suggested interest. “To be perfectly honest, I was expecting you to either respond in Haradin or not, so we may know from where you come.”

He had learned Haradin from Melian in Aman. The Khazad of Belegost had brought it with them to Doriath, as they traded at times with the Men from the south who had not fallen under the Enemy’s rule.

He had also learned Sindarin from her.

He owed a lot, he reflected, to Melian.

“Who are you?” the woman asked.

He repeated himself. “I have come here to warn the Noldor and what remains of the Men at the Havens,” he continued. “A message to confine themselves to the Isle or else go east.”

The Men around him looked… doubtful. Mirnah, in particular, did not seem to believe that he was much more than a madman, if he could read human body language correctly, which was admittedly uncertain.

The woman, however, wasn’t giving much away. She just continued to regard him with the same practiced uncertainty.

“Something bad coming, then?” she said.

“Something bad, yes. But not evil. I’m afraid I can’t be more specific-”

“You,” said Dalin, voice rumbling, “could try.”

“Peace, son,” the woman said, holding a hand up to him. But she leveled her gaze on him, and Eönwë understood that he was to continue.

“I am sorry,” he said. “I know you do not work for the Enemy, but I can’t risk any of you being captured.”

Eönwë didn’t expect that statement to go over well. His suspicions were confirmed when the glares from the Men present intensified. He tried to smile at them, to mixed effect.

“So we are at an impasse,” the woman said.

Eönwë did not respond.

“Then, I am sorry, but we will have to put you under arrest for now,” she said. “You will be given a dwelling of your own and abide with us until we are sure you are not a threat. Your cooperation, of course, will make it go faster.”

Mirnah caught his eye. She was easily the most distrustful of him, at least when they first met, but now her gaze was unreadable. Eönwë wondered if she had something to say, but did not dare speak against the woman he was now sure was their leader.

The hearts of Men were so uncertain to him. He frowned.

“We will not harm you,” the woman assured him, perhaps misreading his expression. “But you will not go free from here without our blessing.”

Eönwë was sorrowful. He had hoped to part with this band of Men on better terms. From what little he had seen of them – their camp, their staunch resistance to Morgoth despite how much they had been beaten down – they were brave indeed, and worthy men and women whom he would have been glad to have beside him in the coming war.

“Before you do,” he said calmly. “You must hear my message, too. Remove to the east or to the Havens. You will be safe there.”

“We know about your message,” the woman said, a trace of shortness in her voice for the first time since she’d spoken to him. “We aren’t leaving. Not now. The People of Haleth have never shied away when others have need of us, and we won’t start now.”

Eönwë looked around at the Men gathered, and saw in their eyes the conviction they shared with their leader. He knew there was no convincing them.

“Very well,” he said. “Take me to my dwelling.”

The sword appeared on his back again, and he was led away. From the corner of his eye, he could see the woman waving away Dalin and Mirnah, who alone had stayed beside her, and begin focusing once again on the pan.

…

The forest at which the Secondborn had settled was less a forest and more a cluster of trees that was looking for promotion, but Eönwë found it beautiful nonetheless. The fog of early morning had not yet cleared entirely, and mist hung about ancient trees like cloaks. Water, not from the Sirion, but from a number of pools and streams that gleamed like diamonds in the morning light, sounded in the distance.

If Men were not so stubborn, he would have perhaps agreed with them that this place was a good place to stay, even if it was doomed.

The sword at his back was lighter now, and he could tell that the man behind him was much less concerned now than he had been. His step was lighter, and when he walked with Eönwë he maintained a greater distance than one normally escorted a prisoner from.

Eventually, he was led to a hastily constructed hut that Eönwë had a suspicion was built for the dog.

Still, he was able to sit and lie down well enough inside. As the man turned back towards the rest of the camp, he hesitated.

“Is it true?” he asked. “What you said? You have come from the West, from whence the Elves came?” He spoke the unlovely tongue of the Haladin. Eönwë did not know it well, as Melian knew little of it, but he grasped enough to respond.

“It is,” Eonwë said. “Although the Elves did not come from the West. They merely returned here after a long time away.”

The man shook his head. “I must be losing my mind,” he said. “I think I believe you.”

Eönwë smiled.

Without another word, the man left, and Eönwë was alone.

No guards had been set. He thought that he should escape when night fell, to make it easier to hide himself. He did not think it would be too difficult, but he didn’t wish to cause any more confusion or upset amongst these Men. It would delay him, but not by too much. As far as he knew, the war was still weeks away.

What did these Men call themselves? The People of Haleth? The name sounded familiar.

He positioned himself closer to the entrance, and peered out from under two sagging palm trees to watch the activity of the camp as closely as he could.

People wandered back and forth. A group – a family? – approached a man who was passing out carefully folded bundles of clothing. They offered him a plate with meat on it, which he attempted to decline (and failed). Near them, a boy and a girl were cartwheeling and whooping with laughter.

There were more here than he had thought at first, but it still wasn’t many – perhaps forty, if he was counting right.

Melian had told him the kindreds of Men had come over the mountains in numbers enough to reach the horizon, and the Men of Brethil had once populated the forest with their structures. He wondered if this was all of the Secondborn that remained west of the Blue Mountains and north of Balar.

From the corner of his eye, he saw one of them begin to approach him. He realized that this was someone he knew.

Mirnah stood at the foot of the tent, looking down at him. Beside her was the guard he had been talking to. He looked nervous, and shuffled his foot and averted his gaze when Eönwë looked at him.

“I wanted to apologize for abandoning my post,” he blurted.

Eönwë was thinking that he was speaking to him, but Mirnah answered, something in her face indicating amusement.

“Well, it’s no matter,” she said. “He hasn’t gone anywhere, even if he had the opportunity.”

She was talking to him now. He smiled up at her.

“Hello, Mirnah,” he said in Haladin. “I would stand, but…” he gestured to the lowness of the entrance.

“Then step outside,” she said. “I give my permission.”

Eönwë (being not of short stature) found this part difficult, and Mirnah laughed as he extricated himself from the leaves and branches.

“Thank you, Birne,” she told the guard. “I’ll worry about him for now.”

The guard bowed, and left. Eönwë wondered where he was going.

“Walk with me for a bit,” Mirnah offered. “Here. I thought you might be hungry.”

In her hand was a hastily made sandwich. It looked as though she had hastily crammed what meat she could find between two pieces of bread, and had put little else on it. And though Eonwë was not hungry and doubted he could be in this form, he took it.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely as he took a bite.

They started to walk. Eönwë followed Mirnah, but it looked as though she had no destination in mind, and was content to simply wander.

“You say you are from the West,” she said suddenly.

“Yes, it is true,” Eönwë said, anticipating her question.

Mirnah was not smiling. “You look as though you are from Harad, though many of those peoples have fallen under the rule of Morgoth since the Siege was broken. And there has not been a visitor from the West since… since before my people walked the loam. Do you see why we are suspicious?”

“Yes.”

She stopped before they reached the main camp, and turned to face him. Her eyes were piercing. Not hostile, but Eönwë got the sense that more than just a warrior, the eyes hid a sharp intellect, tempered with a worry and grief so like the Children, whether Elf or Man or Dwarf.

He thought he liked this woman.

“And something is coming,” she said, facing away from him. “But you cannot tell us more.”

“Yes.”

“Is it orcs?” she asked suddenly.

Eönwë laughed. “I am sorry,” he said. “I would if I could.”

“Does it have something to do with the new star that has risen in the West?” she asked seriously.

Eönwë was silent.

“Come with me,” she said, and this time she led him with a purpose, and Eönwë followed, deep in contemplation.

…

In the trees, there was a dwelling even more humble than the one Eönwë had spent his brief confinement in. As Mirnah approached it, her footsteps grew more muted, and her head bowed. Eönwë copied her.

As Mirnah reached the foot of the dwelling, coming to stop while keeping her head down and her hands clasped in front of her, she called out. “Eghan?” she called. “I have the one you wanted to speak to.”

Eönwë raised an eyebrow, which Mirnah ignored.

Some moments passed in silence. Mirnah did not move from her position of supplication, and neither did Eönwë.

Then, the dwelling rustled. Eönwë feared for a moment that it was going to collapse.

Instead, a diminutive woman, aged and bent, stepped close to her. Her eyes were clear, and she regarded first Mirnah, and then Eönwë.

“You are the herald?”

Eönwë was startled, the first he had felt such since he came here. “I’m sorry?”

“The star,” she rasped. “It is risen and you have come. Mirnah tell me, you are from the West.”

“That is rightly told.”

“Well then,” she said. “I suppose it is time.” She stood up straighter, banged her staff against the ground as though she were testing its integrity. “Alright, Mirnah. I will come with.”

Eönwë looked at Mirnah, who looked back. She was smiling.

“Then follow me, Mother,” she said. “We’ll have you back home before the sun curves back down.”

“Good,” the old woman said. She eyed Eönwë. “That light of yours is bright,” she said. “Mind you use it well, yes?”

“I will try my best, Mother,” he said.

The old woman laughed and rapped him gently on the calf with her stick. Then, she started to make her way towards the village, and did not seem much interested in following Mirnah.

Before long, faster than Eönwë would have expected, she was well ahead of them. He looked at Mirnah, and started to grin. Mirnah laughed, quietly and quickly silenced, but there.

“She is Drúedain,” she said. “Her people have lived with the Haladin for years now.”

“She is not the last remaining, I hope?” Eönwë said as he started to move back towards the village in the footsteps of the old woman, Mirnah close behind.

“No. There are not many of them left – at least, not with us – but there are others. She is the friendliest among them, though. So she says.”

“Hmm.”

“That’s what I said.”

Eönwë laughed. The old woman, Eghan, he remembered, looked back and gave him a sour look, which just made him want to laugh more.

“She said she had foreseen your coming,” Mirnah said. “That was years ago now. Before the star rose. When it did, she said as soon as I found a herald I should bring him to her.”

“So what does she want with me?” Eönwë asked, still fighting back a grin.

“Oh, I don’t know. I think she was waiting for something. Something to do with the hunt tonight.”

“The hunt?” Eönwë asked.

Mirnah’s mouth narrowed, and it looked for a moment as though she would refuse to tell him. Then she exhaled.

“The orc hunt,” she explained. “The plan is to take as many of our warriors as we can spare and surprise a caravan of Morgoth northward of here.”

“Why?” Eönwë said.

Mirnah looked at him. “You’ll find out soon enough, I suppose,” she said, and Eönwë could feel the fragile understanding that seemed to be growing between them gutter and fade. Mirnah withdrew into her thoughts.

Had he pressed too hard? Perhaps he should have left well enough alone. She probably wasn’t supposed to tell him about things like that. Yet the news of an orc hunt troubled him. At this stage, the band  
of Men would do little but draw the eye of Morgoth – if indeed they were not all slain in the attempt.

As they walked through the camp, many eyes were drawn to the old woman, and some to him. If they were thinking that it was not good for him to be out of his confinement, they didn’t say so.

Finally, they reached the tent where the woman most of the Haladin seemed to think of as a leader was cooking that morning. The pan was empty, and the tent was deserted.

The Drúedain snorted, and then swept her stick out and knocked the pan to the ground. “You there,” she said to a man who was passing by. “Where did she go?”

“Huh?” he asked. Then, he noticed the pan on the ground and the tent. “She’s speaking with some of the warriors in the east end. That way,” he said, pointing.

The woman from that morning was finishing saying something in a hushed tone to a group of well-built fighters when the old woman came upon her. She rapped her on the leg with the stick, and stood back expectantly.

A brief expression of confusion upon the chieftain’s face, and then the look of decision-making. Eönwë got the sense, somehow, that she was trying to decide if she should, or could, tell the old Drú to wait a while until she finished talking, and then decided against it.

“What is it?” she asked.

“That one,” the Drú said, pointing her stick at Eönwë. “You put him away?”

“We had to,” the woman explained patiently, like as to a child. Eönwë got the sense that the Drú didn’t like the chieftain much, and he was beginning to understand why. He started to smile again, and continued even when Mirnah glared at him.

“You’re saying I should release him,” the woman said.

“You need him,” she snapped, “so do as you like. I just come to tell you to listen to him, if my advice is still honored here.”

“Of course it is,” the woman said.

The Drú raised her staff in acknowledgment. “Then listen,” she said. She turned towards Eönwë. “I am done here,” she said. “They will listen to you, but you must remember to talk to them.”

“Er,” he said.

“You know what I mean,” the old Drú said, and Eönwë felt at some level that he did. “How much longer were you going to keep them in the dark? Ask them to obey, without their understanding?”

“I know,” he said.

“They took in a stranger with good reason to believe he would betray,” she said firmly. “They have trusted enough for today.”

Eönwë smiled. He knew that feeling well.

“Take care of them,” she told him.

“You’re not leaving the camp, are you?” Eönwë, who had at some point become invested in this strange woman enough to care about her relationship to the Haladin, asked.

“I,” she said, “am going to take a nap.” Then, she left, and picked her way through the camp with remarkable speed. Mirnah looked for a moment as though she wanted to go after her, but thought better of it and remained at Eönwë’s side.

As she did so, the rest of the eyes of the camp turned towards Eönwë. The chieftain stared at him, and began to smile, just so. The People of Haleth listened to the Drúedain, if nothing else.

“And you have something worth telling us, then?” she asked.

“Maybe,” Eönwë said, and shrugged.

No one laughed, but they did crowd closer.

…

As the sun moved through the sky, Eönwë told stories.

First of the Lamps and the Spring of Arda, and how the treachery of Melkor had led to its fall. Of the Two Trees and the Light unsullied that lived now only in the Silmarils.

The Haladin knew the story of the Silmarils, for the most part, but many still listened closely, as from the mouth of Eönwë came their first encounter with one who had walked the land of Aman before the Trees were slain, and described the Blessed Realm as one who had been there and loved it dearly.

And finally, he talked to them about the War that was to come, one that could drown the lands of Beleriand in its fury. And at this, the Men of the Haladin began to murmur amongst themselves, and he almost did not finish before they were clamoring for his attention.

“You mean to say another war is coming,” the chieftain said, her voice first and loudest of all. “And we will be free of Morgoth?”

There was a hushed breath throughout the camp. Nobody dared to believe that it could be true.

“Yes,” Eönwë said. “The plea of Eärendil was heard in Aman, and Manwë marshals his forces to remove Morgoth once and for all.”

There was a stunned silence. For a few moments, the camp was still, and no Man dared move or break the quietude. Then, the murmurs resumed, and this time grew into conversations that became whoops of joy, embraces, and weeping from around the camp as the reality of his statement sank in.

He knew that Manwë would know of what happened here. He hoped he would understand. The Drú was right – it was time that he talked.

He thought of the time when the Exile first fell upon Middle Earth. He wished now that he had been permitted to visit Men before.

The chieftain raised her hand. The Haladin took a few moments to quiet down, but eventually they faced her with an expectant hush.

“This is good news,” she said, a lilt in her mouth. A slight rumble in the crowd that might have been laughter. “But we must not be distracted. The hunt is on tonight, as usual. When we return, we will do so victorious.”

As speeches went, it was not the most eloquent Eönwë had ever heard, but the Haladin started to cheer. He, however, felt frozen.

He turned to her and asked her in a low voice, “You’re still doing it, then?” he asked.

The chieftain faced him seriously. “How much time until your host is prepared?”

The Host of Valinor could prepare more quickly than those of the Children could. But it was not instantaneous.

“A week, perhaps,” he said, hesitantly. “Perhaps two.”

The chieftain nodded. “The Enemy must not be allowed to rest on his throne,” she said. “Not while his enemies draw breath. The Havens still stand, but their position is precarious. Even we know that, and we are, you are aware, not the most well-informed.”

Eönwë merely nodded.

“If we can draw the eye of the Enemy, for as long as we can, then we will have done the House of Haleth honor,” she said. “Do you understand?”

Eönwë wondered at these people. If the Noldor had left in pursuit of what they believed was theirs, then so did Men fight for their past, for the scores of Atani and Eldar alike who had been slain. They fought to keep what they had.

Melian had known Haleth, if only briefly. He remembered that story now – her griefs and the griefs of her people had led them to Brethil, where they had been staunch foes of Morgoth until they were reduced to this.

He wondered how many people here were not Haladin by birth but had become so through pain and fire. 

“Then I will come with you,” he said. “If you will have me.”

The chieftain smiled. “I knew you would understand,” she said.

…

“You should know,” Mirnah said to him, later that night. “I am not Haladin. Not by blood.”

He looked at her. He had donned the armor he had taken with him, the set he was supposed to appear before the Noldor with, still gleaming with the light of the West. At his side was a sword, crafted by Fëanor’s people during their time of unrest, and left behind during their flight.

“It seems you are Haladin in more important ways than blood,” he said, and nodded his head towards where Dalin was arming himself.

Mirnah flushed, and lowered her head. “That’s not what I mean,” she said. “I too have come from a far place to be here. My people…”

She was quiet for a moment.

“I am from the north,” she said. “Too close to Angband. Morgoth’s servants were upon us not long after we settled that land. I gave up much to leave.” Eönwë remembered the missing finger on her right hand, and he suspected that was not all she had lost.

Eönwë watched her. He suspected she did not want pity. “You are strong,” he observed.

“That is to say,” Mirnah finished, “thank you. You did not have to help us after the way I treated you.”

“You want revenge,” he said.

“I want to protect the ones who have a chance to escape that fate,” she corrected. “And revenge.”

Eönwë laughed, and Mirnah joined him, and he knew that their understanding had returned.

When she left, he finished with his armor and stood up. He nodded towards the chieftain, who was waiting at the makeshift gate. She gave the signal, and the Haladin melted into the forest. Eönwë followed.

He breathed the air of Middle Earth and remembered a time like this, when the ones who stood beside him were Ilmarë and Mairon, Salmar and Uinen and Ossë. The ones he fought with now were no less worthy companions.

The orc band the Haladin had been targeting appeared on the ridge. It was large, larger than Eönwë had anticipated.

They were moving south. The chieftain, standing near him, unsheathed her sword. He resolved that none of the Haladin would die today.

He resolved also that no orc would survive to report to its master the fury it witnessed in the battle, and no inkling would come to the Enemy of his presence here.

…

It is said in after days that on the eve of the wrath of the Valar, Eönwë returned from his sojourn in the Hither Lands and went once again before Manwë, King of Arda, and pleaded on behalf of the Secondborn.

“Lord,” he said, “I come to ask you a boon on behalf of my friends.”

And Manwë was pleased, though he did not say it, and instead replied “Ask, then.”

And Eönwë spoke then of the griefs of Men, of the torment of Húrin and the sorrows of Haleth, of the proud Houses that had since become little more than remnants, if they survived at all.

He spoke of a woman with piercing but kindly eyes, who would do anything to strike, in any way that she could, against the Enemy, and the Drú who had seen the signs and followed her instincts though they were strange even to her, and of the Man who had first spoken for him when he was captured.

And Manwë lifted his hand again, and said, “What, then, do you ask?”

And the Edain were thereafter allowed to fight alongside the Host of Valinor in vengeance against Morgoth, and thus also was Eönwë sent among them in the earliest days of Númenor to teach them of many things which they had need of.

And at last was Eönwë comforted.


End file.
